


Possessive Grasp

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Bard and the Elf [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Claiming, Confusion, Dubious Consent, First Time, Geralt actually likes me?, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, best day ever, blowjob, he wasn't ready
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier finds Chireadan by happenstance and gains some clarity on their situation, then gains even further clarity through unexpected means.
Relationships: Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bard and the Elf [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642075
Comments: 5
Kudos: 142
Collections: Jaskier/others (besides or with Geralt)





	Possessive Grasp

**”Now I know you had to kill all those ghouls, because, well, obviously, but did you have to slice it open _right on top of me_??”** Jaskier was frowning at his bloody clothes, whining slightly. They were ruined! He pulled off the soaked top, cringing at the smell. At least his smallclothes were untouched, but those were the easiest to clean! Geralt stared at him, unenthused, covered head to toe in blood. Jaskier had only received a soaking to the front of his shirt, but that was bad enough! He was just along for the ride, he wasn’t the one out here killing monsters!

 **”Shut up, bard.”** Might as well have been _I love you_ in witcher speak, for all it mattered to Jaskier. Geralt sheathed his sword on his back and shook off as much of the blood and guts as he could. **”Hmm. Need a bath.”** Funnily enough, Jaskier noted, the witcher never mounted Roach when he was filthy. He had more respect for the mare than he did the bard, that was certain. 

**”Ah yes, a bath. A bath sounds wonderful right about now, I absolutely agree. And as I recall, that farmer only paid you _half_ in advance for this little…issue.”** Jaskier jogged to meet up with Geralt, keeping pace with him. Which was difficult, given witcher stamina and leg length. A slight smirk pulled at the White Wolf’s mouth, which made Jaskier grin, knowing that he could pull any positive expression out of him if he really tried. And he had not! Merely reminded Geralt of the obvious facts surrounding them in this moment.

It had been two years since the djinn incident, and Jaskier had never missed an opportunity to remind Geralt about it. _Remember when you wished that I’d die and then you saved my life anyway?_ It tickled him to remind the witcher and see his face scrunch up in frustration like that. _Funny, this reminds me of the time you left me alone with that crazy bitch. Oh did I say bitch? I meant witch. No I didn’t._ Jaskier sniffed his shirt and then held it away at arm’s length, wafting the air in front of his nose.

 **”Good gods…do they all smell like that?”** Geralt’s annoyed grunt told Jaskier to hush it, but sometimes he wondered if he was just physically incapable of doing so. All the silences Geralt left wide open made Jaskier _need_ to fill it with…something. Anything. Gods, he was so broody all of the time, and the bard could hardly stand the quiet. That’s why he was always strumming on his lute or humming or asking silly questions. **”I mean of course they are rather dead to begin with aren’t they? But it’s not just a _dead_ smell, it’s absolutely-”**

 **”Damn it Jaskier, if you don’t quiet yourself I’m going to tie that ruined shirt around your head and make you be quiet.”** The threat was not an idle one, based on the look in Geralt’s eye, and Jaskier nodded with a quick _right_. The trouble with being quiet is that it made one think, a lot. About how he had given up on trying to gently persuade Geralt to share a bath with him, about the mornings he awoke and saw the _morning glory_ stirring beneath the sheets before the witcher awoke. And sometimes even about that odd fever dream he’d had about that elf. Jaskier wasn’t quite sure if it was a dream or not, really, but how was he ever to know? Geralt certainly didn’t seem to think anything was amiss, that next morning. At least not that he had voiced, to Jaskier. But then, when had Geralt voiced much of anything to the bard? 

**”Well fine, I…oh don’t give me that look, you. All I’m saying is when we’re back, you go and collect your coin, I’ll arrange for a bath. Alright?”** That seemed to satisfy the witcher, who nodded with a grunt. Well…that was certainly that, then. But his shirt! He looked down at it with a frown, hoping that the local laundry women could salvage it. This had not been a cheap purchase, either! It was fully custom sewn, fit only to him, which also ensured that he must keep his slender figure for the rest of his days. 

As per usual, Jaskier could barely keep silent, and Geralt, though he grunted and threatened and rolled his eyes, did nothing about it. Perhaps he secretly liked it, the bard sometimes thought. Because it kept him from having to deal with the silence in his mind, too. All those years he spent wandering, traveling, killing alone. Surely that had to haunt him, didn’t it? Jaskier could only imagine, because he was not a psychic, and Geralt was hardly one to share the things on his mind, despite all the times Jaskier asked. He had worded the queries in different ways, but never got more than a grunt or a short, annoyed answer. Damned witchers. He knew Geralt had _some_ emotion in there, and not because he was a hopeless optimist. Jaskier had seen it in the way Geralt looked at him sometimes, the way he rushed when he thought the bard had hurt himself in some way. The witcher could try to deny it, but Jaskier had eyes, damn it! And he knew what he saw. Most of the time.

 **”Ah. Civilization at long last. Geralt, I am famished. So you do…your witchery thing, and I’ll get us a good, fat meal. Our reward for slaying the beasts.”** Well yes, Geralt had done the slaying, and the farmer was going to pay him, but Jaskier never missed an opportunity to milk the cow. And a splendid cow this inn seemed to provide, cheering him as soon as he walked in. Geralt did not appreciate the fanfare and affection that came with this, and Jaskier was more than happy to soak it all up. It made for great songs anyway, didn’t it? While the witcher wandered off with Roach to find the rest of his payment Jaskier approached the bar and held out his shirt.

 **”My poor, poor perfectly tailored clothing. Covered! Ruined! Coated in ghoul guts and blood, the witcher did save me from certain death after all.”** Jaskier’s voice carried when he wished it to, and he knew the people of the tavern were hanging on his words, even if it looked like they had gotten back to their own conversations. **”Tell me, you know of a laundrymaid who can restore it?”** The barkeep nodded, and took the shirt from him, wandering off.

 **”Ah wait, but I also was going to…bugger. Fucking gone, hasn’t he.”** Jaskier leaned on the bar, tapping his thumb impatiently on the wood, awaiting the man’s return. 

**”Do you make a habit of being coated with blood?”** a melodic voice sounded out from his side. Jaskier looked left, seeing an unexpected, familiar face. Pointed ears, a hesitant smile on his lips, although he had chosen new, more comfortable, clothing. 

**”Chireadan. Well this is _quite_ the coincidence, isn’t it?”**

Did the elf blush? Jaskier didn’t know that elves even _could_ , with how haughty and self-important they always seemed to act. It was endearing, and Jaskier remembered why he might have had that dream after all. **”You remember me.”**

 **”It _is_ part of a bard’s duty to recall faces and names. And you pointed Geralt in the right direction to save my hide, so I owe you for that.”** Jaskier nodded, and saw something peculiar in the elf’s face. He wasn’t here by chance at all, was he? 

Chireadan reached for Jaskier’s hand, which took the bard by surprise. **”I am sorry to have left so suddenly. I did not…I…it was not right. To do that.”**

Well, at least now he had confirmation that the damned thing had happened. A long while later, but he hadn’t been mad from the magic after all. **”Well then…why did you? Even I have more decorum than that, to leave a lover cold and wanting. Don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed, but those of us with cocks like to go a round in the morning.”**

The elf laughed, and suddenly pulled away as the barkeep returned. **”Ah. Brilliant. Yes I will have three of the finest ales-”** Jaskier winked at Chireadan, who it seemed could not stop blushing in his presence, **”And hearty pies. The witcher will return soon, and he is going to be _famished_ from all his work he’s done.”** The man nodded, and poured out three flagons, setting them before Jaskier. He went to fix up a meal, or at least the bard assumed so. 

**”Why don’t we sit and…catch up? You can tell me about all your ah…healing adventures.”** Perhaps if Chireadan had a room his own, Jaskier might find himself warming a different bed tonight. Geralt was good company, he was not to be mistaken there, but all that traveling they did was not good for Jaskier’s rather personal needs. How was he meant to woo and seduce a lover if they barely stayed one night in each tavern and inn? 

**”I would like that,”** Chireadan smiled, and the pair left the bar to seek out a table. Jaskier brought the third flagon with him, saving it for Geralt. Likely he would hate whatever vintage this bar provided, but it was here, and it was _something_. Despite Geralt’s insistence that Jaskier was selfish and thoughtless, he did actually think about the witcher’s needs quite often, and adjusted himself to them. How else was he meant to survive all this traveling? 

**”I heard that the witcher and his fellow were here, but I…well. I hoped it was you. I was prepared to know that it was not.”** Jaskier was rather flattered by that. Usually it was he who did the pursuing, and not the other way around. He leaned onto the table, giving the elf his best bedroom eyes, which actually seemed to be working. Chireadan chewed on his bottom lip and looked down into his flagon bashfully. 

**”Be honest. Is it just me that you were hoping to see? I mean I am flattered, and, well…I’m due for a bath soon.”** Ah fuck, the bath! He looked for the barkeep, but the man was busy. He’d snag one of the wenches when they went by, he supposed.

 **”Jaskier,”** Geralt grunted behind him. 

**”Ah! Good, you’re back. Look who we’ve run into.”** He smiled first at the witcher, and then at Chireadan. Jaskier’s smile faltered a little when he noted how the elf was staring at Geralt. Like he was terrified and shrinking by the second. Jaskier was about to ask what the matter was, when he felt a strong, too strong as a matter of fact, grip on his shoulder.

 **”I…will leave you to it. It was good to see you again, Jaskier.”** Chireadan didn’t even take his flagon along, bolting from the chair and hurrying out of the tavern. Jaskier made to follow after him, but Geralt’s hand kept him firmly seated in the chair. He grunted and squirmed in the chair, attempting to shove the hand away from his shoulder. Damned witchers!

**”Geralt I was catching up with a-”**

**”Room. Now.”** Geralt didn’t want to listen to whatever it was Jaskier had to say, apparently, and was much more interested in dragging him up the stairs by the scruff of his undershirt. 

**”Geralt! Let go! Geralt what are you doing?”** Jaskier was already lamenting the loss of a bedmate for the night, and now he had to lament the loss of ale as well! He was shoved into their room, catching himself from outright falling on the heavy wooden chair.

 **”What the _absolute fuck_ has gotten into you, Geralt? If you hadn’t noticed I was in the middle of a conversation-”** Jaskier had barely blinked, for how fast the witcher crossed the room, grabbing Jaskier’s neck and pinning him to the wall. Chills ran all over him, and _why the fuck_ was he getting aroused by this? **”Geralt…Geralt let go.”** His breathing had become erratic, and Jaskier had grabbed the witcher’s wrist, but for some reason wasn’t trying to push him off. 

**”I could smell him,”** the witcher growled. He leaned in close, his golden-orange eyes centimeters from Jaskier’s pale, icy ones. **”The morning after. His stink was all over you.”** Jaskier gulped, opened his mouth to at least try to answer, but found a pair of bloody lips on his, kissing him aggressively. Fangs digging into the tender flesh of his lips, making him whimper and jolt. Geralt’s tongue, filling his mouth, coaxing his to respond in earnest. 

**”It should have been mine,”** Geralt stepped back, glaring at him. Jaskier was _so_ confused. He stayed there, against the wall, for a moment that lasted a thousand sunsets. 

**”Geralt…”** Jaskier was incensed, out of nowhere, and felt _angry_. Not just that, but insulted and affronted and…and…how dare this asshole! **”You decided to have your romp with that…the crazy fucking witch, and I…you are _not_ allowed to say that.”** That made Geralt snicker and take a step towards Jaskier again. The bard’s tongue darted out to worry at the punctures on his lip. His brow furrowed and he shoved at Geralt’s chest, though the witcher barely moved.

 **”You bit me! You bit me and now I can taste my _blood_ , Geralt. And _you_ chased away someone who intentionally sought me out.”** That was unfair and selfish! What a laugh, that Geralt was always quick to accuse Jaskier of the same behavior. 

**”You’re _mine_.”** The look in Geralt’s eyes was feral, wild, and as much as it should have scared Jaskier, it just angered him.

 **”I’m my own, thank you very much. If you wanted me so badly you could have fucking told me ages ago! Not when I’m about to break a dry spell that I put up with, by the way, because I care about you!”**

The sound that rumbled in Geralt’s throat was inhuman, and his body was quickly pressing Jaskier’s to the wall again, making the bard whimper and shudder. Lips shoved into his, pushing his head back as well, and…gods, were those Geralt’s hands on his wrists? Bringing his arms up above his head. Jaskier yanked against the grip, but just one of those hands pinned both his wrists together, tight. 

**”I can smell you now, bard. You want…everything. I know the smell of your lust. I’ve ignored it for too long.”** His cock was stiff as stone, and for once the bard was silent. When Geralt grabbed him through his trousers, Jaskier cried out, one foot stomping. Geralt had _never_ shown this level of interest in him before. Not even close. 

**”Geralt…we’re covered in-”**

**”I don’t care.”** Geralt _ripped_ his pants, and Jaskier protested loudly at that. Did the witcher really not care for his clothing at all? But then that strong grip was on his exposed cock, yanking and pulling and making him squirm. And _gods_ he couldn’t fucking move! 

**”Geralt _please_.”** Jaskier whimpered, his eyes rolling back into his head. Geralt would not stop pulling on his cock, with reckless abandon, and soon the bard was spilling his seed all over the witcher’s hand, with a loud moan, straining against the hand pinning his wrists. **”No…no stop…stop! That’s too much I…oh gods. Geralt!”** His cock was sensitive from that, and Jaskier grit his teeth, his hips trying to pull away from the merciless grip that had him. 

**”Fine.”** Geralt stepped away from him, and Jaskier slumped for the moment, breathing heavily. He stared at the witcher, and could not help the glance downward, noticing the rather sizable bulge in Geralt’s trousers. Jaskier’s jaw dropped and he stammered, trying to ask…something. His mind was blank, and he had no time to react when Geralt grabbed him again, pulling him towards the bed. 

**”Tell me what you want, bard. Tell me.”** He was thrown down onto the bed. Jaskier found himself scrambling to shove off the rest of his clothes, though really he shouldn’t have been so eager for this right now. Geralt was…he was mad! Surely. And yet Jaskier reached for him, when the witcher approached naked and hard, taking him into his mouth and eagerly sucking, his hands sliding to Geralt’s ass and gripping him. One hand tangled into his hair, pulling it hard, making Jaskier moan and take the witcher down into his throat. Fuck. He didn’t know where all this came from, but Jaskier was hoping that this wasn’t a dream, too. 

**”Off,”** Geralt grunted, yanking Jaskier’s head away from him. The bard stared up into golden eyes, breathing hard and glistening with sweat. The witcher grabbed his hip and somehow flipped him over onto his stomach, pulling his ass up into the air at the same time. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, and when he tried to push himself up onto his fists, he found a hand shoving his head back down into the bed. Fingers, slick with…what he hoped was either his own seed or Geralt’s spit, slid into his ass. Jaskier moaned, wriggling and clawing at the sheets. 

**”You’re…mine…”** Jaskier gasped as he felt Geralt’s cock at his entrance. When had the witcher pulled those fingers out? Fuck! He didn’t shove or root like a wild beast, but slowly pushed, with low grunts and fingers gripping tight on Jaskier’s hips. **”Mine.”** He cried out, biting into the pillow as Geralt sunk deep into him. The witcher hunched over his back, holding there for a few long moments while he got accustomed to the feeling of being inside Jaskier. 

**”Geralt…?”** The witcher began to thrust into him, and Jaskier shouted, quickly covering his own mouth. Geralt grabbed for his hand, pulling it behind his back and pinning it hard. 

**”Let them fucking hear. Hear who you belong to…”** Why did that make Jaskier’s cock twitch? He whimpered and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but as Geralt began to _fuck_ him, Jaskier moaned in a broken tone. 

**”Oh gods…Geralt what are…this…I…fuck!”** Jaskier yanked on his pinned arm, attempting to free it. Geralt had the audacity to _laugh_ at him while he was being fucked! What a bastard. 

But Jaskier wasn’t expecting the witcher to begin thrusting into him, quickly and with such vigor that he could hear Geralt’s balls slapping against him. The witcher’s cock was hitting _something_ inside him, and making him twitch and groan like a wanton maiden. **”Oh, fuck. Oh…that is…that…Geralt, fuck!”** He whimpered and then shouted randomly when he came again, without the witcher even touching his cock! The bed was coated in his seed, and Jaskier’s moans were cracking, filling the room.

Not long after, the witcher was moaning, loud and animalistic. Jaskier felt hot seed filling him, and Geralt collapsed on him, releasing his arm but pushing the bard to lie flat, squished beneath the witcher. **”Geralt!”** Jaskier was squeaking and flailing, trapped uncomfortably beneath him. When Geralt pulled out of him, he whimpered, laying there and unable, or rather unwilling, to move. Jaskier’s eyes were heavy, and his breathing shallow. 

Geralt collapsed onto the bed beside him, and grabbed aggressively at Jaskier, rolling him back onto his side, and pressing into him. Jaskier felt hot breath on his neck, and then the arm around his stomach. Geralt began to nibble and kiss his neck. 

**”Geralt…”** The witcher grunted at him, suddenly biting his shoulder and making Jaskier cry out as his cock twitched. **”You could have _told_ me all this much sooner you know!”**

 **”I don’t like to talk.”**

**”We have food coming. And a…”** No, he’d never been able to call for a bath. But they both stunk, and not just of ghouls’ blood now. 

**”I don’t care.”** Jaskier tried to move, but Geralt was already falling to sleep, holding the bard tight against him. He tried to protest a few more times, but got little more than sleepy grunts aimed at him. Finally Jaskier gave up, letting his eyes shut and sleep take hold.

This was not how he expected his relationship with Geralt to progress, and the elf was quickly put out of his mind. The coming weeks were a blur of sex and affection that Jaskier had not thought possible, from Geralt. But it had finally happened, and he could not have been happier with the witcher.


End file.
